


stick + poke

by fvckradio



Series: Massachusetts [2]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoos, but not really, giving tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvckradio/pseuds/fvckradio
Summary: This is normal, this is what he is used to.What he isn’t used to is the funny feeling he gets when Dejun turns around and smiles at him, blinking his glittery eyes. He looks pretty like this.or, Mark didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, but he did. He lets him give him a tattoo and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be loved.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: Massachusetts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796194
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	stick + poke

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been bouncing around my head since, June, but I finally found the push to write it and it just so happens to be the week between Mark and Xiaojun's birthdays so it's perfect that I was able to finish this.  
> Thank you, as always, to Tyler for pushing me along and telling me I am doing good. I hope I managed to capture that feeling of deep longing when you're in love with your best friend. It's not perfect but I tried.  
> I want to give a content warning for smoking, drug use, and tattooing. If doing any of those recreationally make you uncomfortable please do not read, this is your disclaimer that there is both nicotine and drug use and the whole plot is being given a tattoo.  
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It starts with a bike dropped on the front lawn and ends with blank stares at the ceiling. 

Mark leaves his bike where he leaves it most Saturdays. His shift at the pizza place is covered by a new coworker who was more than willing to pick up extra hours and his backpack has everything he needs to get through the night at Dejun’s. His bike looks natural on the lawn next to Dejun’s and Dejun’s younger brother’s and Mark is more than comfortable throwing on a smile as his friend’s mom and dad head out the door while he heads in. He kicks off his shoes into the pile outside the front door and he offers a quick wave off to Dejun’s brother as he makes his way down to the basement. This is normal, this is what he is used to. 

What he isn’t used to is the funny feeling he gets when Dejun turns around and smiles at him, blinking his glittery eyes. He looks pretty like this. 

Mark wishes someone would jump out from beyond the corner to drench him in ice water. He feels like crawling out of his skin, the way it burns under Dejun’s gaze. The laugh he lets out is pathetic, makes his awkwardness palpable. He turns away but there is only so far he can go, trapped in his best friend’s bedroom. He tries to take control of it, back turned so he can’t see his face. He fiddles with the zippers on his bag as he throws it down on the bed. 

“I saw your parent’s leaving,” Mark tries to break the tension he’s built up, he isn’t sure if it works, “I said hello before I came down.” 

Dejun hums, “yeah, they’re visiting my dad’s family, they’ll be back sometime tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Mark tries not to think too hard. He takes a moment before he turns back around and when he does he sighs in relief that Dejun is facing the other way. He sits down on the bed before he loses his shit again, “cool.” 

“Dude, why are you so tense?” Dejun laughs, in the carefree way he does when he’s with Mark. His voice is airy and smooth as he rants on. It makes Mark feel like he’s floating. “Anyways, remember how you said you wanted a stick and poke? I finally got more ink, I can do it tonight if you want? I think it’d be cool, we can smoke down here because my parents are out and I can give you the tattoo and we won’t have to worry about any interruptions.” 

“What about your brother?” Mark thinks his brain to mouth filter is broken. 

Dejun laughs again and the floaty feeling is back. Mark forces it back down to earth with a sharp pinch to his wrist. 

“He’s heading over to a friend’s house, it’s just us,” Dejun says carelessly, spinning around in his desk chair. “Besides, he knows to stay out of my business by now. Now show me what you brought.” 

He wastes no time getting up and making his way over to where Mark is. He has always been so much more cool and casual than Mark was. Even now, in his bedroom, he looks so much more… put together. He makes a plain t-shirt look like high fashion, Mark thinks. The black denim jacket he’s wearing doesn’t help Mark from thinking about how Dejun looks like he’s ready to walk down a runway, and his black skinny jeans leave Mark wondering what the hell he was thinking before he came over here. He feels underdressed, in his boring green hoodie and basketball shorts, next to Dejun’s all-black ensemble. He is sitting somewhere in between envy and desire and the way his friend’s hair falls in his face doesn’t help. As his friend steps into his space, Mark is confronted with the glitter coating his eyelids once again. Specks of blue and purple shimmer under the strange lighting and Mark has to look away to catch his breath as he follows the messy glittery line across his cheekbones. 

When he looks back, Dejun is digging through his backpack. It’s mostly empty, save the spare clothes he’d packed for tomorrow. His phone charger and toothbrush bang around with the spare pens he’d lost at the bottom of the bag. Dejun pulls everything out, spreads it all out between them on the bed. His headphones tangle up with the puff bars he’d forgotten about and the random flash drive he thought he’d lost. He feels exposed as Dejun folds his t-shirt and puts it down next to the mess he’d accumulated. At the bottom of it all is the baggie of weed he’d been looking for. He just nods and tosses it onto his desk before slowly putting his things back. 

“You carry around so much shit,” he says while shoving his stuff into the backpack. He pauses for a moment before throwing the puff bars at Mark. “Except these, how long have you had these?” 

He catches one but the others fall to the side onto the comforter. 

“Probably a couple of weeks,” he shrugs in response. “I think I got them at that place across the street from the pizza shop that doesn’t card after 10:30.” 

“Mhm,” Dejun hummed. He tosses the backpack to the ground and flops onto the bed in its place. “They never card me unless there’s someone else in the shop. Or if it's that bitchy blonde lady.” 

“The one who always gives you the side-eye when you go in there?” 

“Yeah, she’s convinced I’m a criminal.” 

Dejun huffs and blows his bangs out of his face. As they float back down to his forehead he stretches his arm out towards Mark. He freezes as he watches Dejun’s fingers dance across the comforter, flirting dangerously close to his leg. It hits him suddenly that he’s reaching for the vape and Mark drops the nearest one into his wandering hand. He takes his hand back; Mark exhales. 

The silence that falls over them doesn’t feel heavy, it feels normal. It lulls Mark into the calm of their usual routine. Laying back on the bed and scrolling through their phones in comfortable companionship is exactly what he is used to. Occasionally, Dejun will pass him the vape or Mark will stretch over to show him some meme or video. It’s the casual nights their friendship had been benefiting from for years. It’s 8 pm before Dejun sits up and stretches across Mark to grab the tv remote from behind him. He spends five minutes flipping through channels before he gives up and flops back on the bed. Mark focuses on his phone and pretends he hadn’t been looking before Dejun looked back. He tries to scroll through his Instagram feed, likes a picture some girl in his graduating class posted of her vacation, but he can’t ignore the eyes boring into the side of his head. When he sneaks a glance, Dejun is already looking at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Dejun replies casually, turning his face away from Mark and towards the ceiling. Mark lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “We should’ve gone to the beach or something.” 

“Are you bored?” Mark says casually. 

“Are _you_?” Dejun asks, shooting up. “I’m so bored. You bike over here and then do nothing. I’m so bored, Mark.” 

“I’m great company!” Mark huffs, finally closing his phone and looking at Dejun. The latter groans and falls back onto the bed. 

“But it’s the beach, at least it’s something.” 

“Do you want to go to the beach, it’s only like fifteen minutes away.” 

Mark focuses on Dejun’s closed eyes and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. He wouldn’t mind biking out to the beach if Dejun wanted to. The bike path leads straight down to the shore and as annoying as the sand would be in his hoodie, he’d do whatever makes Dejun happy. He stands, ready to grab his bag and head out, but he feels Dejun’s hand wrap around his wrist. He pulls him back down onto the bed and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, eyes still closed, “we can go to the beach anytime. I like spending time with you like this” 

His heart skips the next beat. 

Dejun continues; “do you want to watch a movie or something? My brother is heading out at like nine and then we’ll have the house to ourselves.” 

He feels his heart skip again, his mouth drops open. _Push that down_ , he thinks, _pick a movie._ He knows he’s taking too long when Dejun’s eyes flutter open and he looks up at him. They blink at each other in the silence and Mark knows he’s still gaping, still reeling from the information drop that they’re going to be completely alone. It takes longer than Mark is willing to admit before he can form any sort of response. 

“Uh,” he slips. He shakes his head. “We could play a round of Mario Kart.” 

It sounds like a question but any sort of awkwardness is lifted as Dejun hurries to boot up the Wii he keeps in his room. He tosses the remotes to Mark and throws himself back onto the bed. The bed dips where he sits back down, closer to Mark this time. Their thighs touch and Mark can feel every point of contact like a searing knife against his skin. He is hyper-aware of his friend pressed against him but he forces himself to focus on the screen, on the game. If Dejun is at all aware of Mark’s internal conflict he doesn’t make it known as he rambles through asking Mark which race he wants to start on. 

They play the easy ones first. Neither of them is very good but it’s easy and Mark lets the tension fall away as he laughs. He stops thinking about the way their legs are pressed together and starts thinking about having a good time with his best friend. They shove each other to mess up their game and Dejun screams every time Mark throws a shell at him. They barely hear the sound of the door slamming over their shrieks on Wario’s Gold Mine. Any anxiety he had about being completely alone with Dejun is long gone by the time they make it to Rainbow Road. 

It’s fifteen minutes of pure adrenaline and chaos as they fail at making their way around the track. Mark isn’t proud of his 11th place finish exactly, but he is smug at Dejun’s anguish over not being able to finish the race. He falls back in dismay and Mark falls next to him. They collapse into a fit of giggles as the home screen music plays in the background. When they finally stop to breathe, Dejun huffs and sits up again. 

“You’re in charge of the rolling,” he announces, turning completely around to face Mark.

“But I was the winner!” he complains. 

“Nope!” Dejun says airily. “I’m bad at it and it’s my house, so I’m making the rules.” 

He groans and covers his head with his hands. He has no choice but to slide off the bed and sink to the floor and wait for Dejun to hand everything over. He smiles gleefully at Mark’s dismay and any remnants of his loss in the game are gone as he bounces over to his desk to look for what he wants. 

“Do you still want the tattoo?” he asks as he hands everything over to Mark. He sits too close, in his opinion, crowding him against the bed. He can feel Dejun’s breath on his cheek and his fingers ghost over his wrist where he’s holding the baggy. Mark can’t find the words and he knows it’s a bad idea but he nods anyway. Like he said, he’d give Dejun whatever makes him happy. The smile that breaks out on his face is rewarding enough as he rushes over to dig through his art supplies for the needles and ink. Before Mark even gets the chance to pull himself together he is back and so close Mark can smell his cologne. It makes him dizzy. 

Mark fumbles through rolling the blunt. His hands usually shake while he does this but the realization that it is because of Dejun Xiao, pretty boy, is new and foreign. Dejun has always been the one to point out how Mark got nervous around pretty boys and he wonders if Dejun knows that he’s making him nervous. He wonders if he’s ignoring it. He wonders if he cares. Mark pushes that out of his head and focuses on the task at hand. For as often as they get together like this, Mark was really no expert at this. By all proper definitions, he was bad at most things involving weed. Mark usually shows up to parties and Dejun’s house with blunts his brother rolled. His older brother says he sucks at it and he’s right. However, Dejun is no better, in fact, he’s maybe worse, which leaves Mark to roll their blunts when they’re alone. 

He knows it’s bad but he hands it to Dejun anyways. In the flicker of the lighter, Mark is reminded that he has glitter on his face. His eyelids flutter as he exhales and Mark is captivated by it all. His eyes follow the line down his jaw and trace the slope of his nose. He feels jittery and hot, with want and adrenaline, but he clenches his fists and he thinks about Dejun’s soft hair instead. He’s grateful when it’s his turn to take a hit, both for something to occupy his hands and an excuse to close his eyes. The question of if Dejun stares at him too flashes in his mind for a moment while he’s holding the smoke in his chest but he forces it out with the exhale. What he likes the most about smoking is the emptiness it creates in his head, and he won’t let pining after his best friend ruin that for him. He keeps his eyes closed a moment longer than he needs to, just to breathe. When he opens them, Dejun is looking at him and for a second the air is heavy and Mark thinks he’s been made, but then he smiles and takes the blunt out of his hand. They don’t necessarily fall into a pattern, just hit and pass at whatever pace they desire, but it still lulls Mark into a calmness. The smell of the weed is broken by the smell of sandalwood and citrus. Mark breathes in and lets it wash over him. Then, like a bucket of ice water, he’s startled back to reality. Dejun’s hand is heavy on his thigh. When he turns to look, he is close, close enough for Mark to count the individual flecks of glitter on his eyelids. He feels his breath catch in his throat as Dejun stares into his eyes. 

“What if we do matching tattoos,” he whispers. He’s so close Mark can feel his breath again, and he forgets how to breathe as his eyes trace Dejun’s lips while he speaks. His fingers are digging into the flesh of Mark’s upper thigh and he tries to subtly shift to move his hand, but he just squeezes again. 

“Matching?” he finally asks hesitantly. He shifts focus, “you’d trust me to put a tattoo on you?” 

“I’d trust you with anything,” he replies, still whispering, still staring. “Something easy. Like a moon. What if you have a sun and I have a moon, that’d be sick.” 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, that’d be sick.” 

“Really?” Dejun’s eyes look so big looking up at him. They sparkle under the hazy lights of his bedroom. Mark doesn’t remember when they switched to the led strip lights but he regrets every time he ever teased him about them because under the glow of them Dejun looks holy. Mark is weak to his power as he nods to his question. His fingertips glide down his leg and land on his ankle. As he grazes the skin at his joint his eyes don’t leave Mark’s. He asks, still quiet even though there is no one home, “here?” 

He feels dumb when all he can do is a nod in response. A smile overtakes Dejun’s face and he moves himself out of Mark’s space. His hand stays heavy on his ankle. Reaching behind him, Dejun pulls out the needles and ink he’d mentioned. Mark doesn’t know when he’d grabbed the alcohol solution or cotton pads but he sees him place them down on the floor next to them. His fingers wrap themselves around his ankle and hold when he tries to pull away and Mark is helpless to the touch. He has to pull away to open the alcohol and clean the needle and Mark takes that as a moment to breathe, but he is still swimming under the haze of the weed and Dejun’s touch. He uses the little strength he has left to keep his gaze away from Dejun. He focuses on the posters on the wall, a collage of music and art and inspiration he had collected. It was so beautifully Dejun it was almost as bad as looking directly at him. The Mario Kart home screen was still on, he focuses on that instead. His touch returns and Mark jumps at the feeling of it. Dejun laughs as he curls his fingers around his ankles again. 

“Did I surprise you?” he laughs, leaning into Mark’s space again. “Are you ready?” 

“Yeah,” Mark says over a tight laugh. He’s not ready but there is no going back now. “Tattoo me, baby.” 

Dejun doesn’t hesitate, just drags the cotton pad across his skin and picks up the needle. He looks up at Mark once more before encasing his ankle with his left hand and bringing the needle down with his right. It stings as it breaks the skin, but the heat of Dejun’s hand holding him distracts just enough for him to get used to the pain. He uses Dejun’s distraction to linger his gaze on him, letting himself drink in the way his hair falls around his face and the way his eyebrows bunch up as he focuses. The high points of his cheeks reflect the light and the glitter sparkles. Mark is drowning in it. He gasps at the feeling of Dejun’s fingers tracing the high points of his ankle, gasps as he uses a new cotton pad to wipe away the ink, gasps as he pushes back into his skin. Dejun pushes his leg down, holds his ankle in place. Mark wonders if anyone else has ever had someone hold their ankle and fallen in love, and then he pushes that aside when Dejun rubs circles into his skin. It takes longer than he expects it to, but Mark relishes in every moment Dejun’s hands are on his skin. He feels calm under his hands, pacified almost. His head feels static, empty, and buzzing from the weed. He jolts when he feels Dejun’s hands pull back completely. 

“Are you done?” he hears himself ask, but his mouth feels dry and heavy. Dejun blinks and smiles at him and Mark feels every single one of his nerve endings explode when he drags the tip of his finger across the fresh tattoo. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, and Mark realizes he’d whispered too. The way he looks up through his eyelashes makes Mark’s desire nearly collapse in on itself. “Do you like it?” 

He has to tear his eyes away from Dejun’s face. A small circle sun sits at the meeting of his heel and his ankle. The tiny lines around it are a little shaky but Mark glows at the sight of it, a tiny piece of Dejun with him. 

“Yeah,” his voice is heavy from disuse and want. “Yeah, I really like it, Jun.” 

“Good, because it’s permanent.” he laughs at his joke, and Mark aches with the heady feeling in his chest. 

“No, its good, you’re so good,” Mark rambles. “I don’t think I can keep my hands still long enough for that.” 

“I won’t make you this time, but the next time you come over you’re doing me, Lee.” Dejun yawns as he says it, arms stretching over his head. A sliver of his stomach peaks out of his t-shirt and Mark is too faded to look away. The weed is starting to sink in and he feels exhausted, even leaning against Dejun’s bed. He feels himself yawn. 

“Whatever you say, Dejun,” he mumbles, smiling softly. 

“Are you tired? It’s like midnight, we should go to bed. C’mon.” Dejun nudges Mark’s side and tries to force him to stand. 

“I’ll just sleep here,” he says, head rolling back against the mattress. “Give me a pillow the floor is comfortable. I don’t want to climb up the stairs.” 

“Oh my god, Mark, get up,” Dejun moans. “You’re sleeping in my bed, shut up.” 

He freezes at that. He had slept in Dejun’s bed a million times before, and he didn’t know why he thought this time would be different. In his yearning over his best friend, he had completely forgotten that he was expected to sleep with him tonight. Dejun takes his silence as a yes and hauls him to his feet, nearly stumbling in the process. He pushes him down onto the bed and grabs a few things off the floor and runs them over to his desk. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says quickly, stepping onto the stairs and climbing up into the house. 

Mark rolls over so he’s next to the wall, pulls the covers over him. He has one pillow on this end of the bed, just for their sleepovers, compared to the three at the head where Dejun sleeps. He convinces himself there is nothing romantic about sleeping head to toe in his best friend’s bed and he’s nearly there when Dejun returns in basketball shorts that were definitely Mark’s once and a bare face. He doesn’t say anything as he crawls into bed and shuffles around to turn off the lights. In the dark Mark can’t be distracted by the Twilight cd hanging on the wall. His skin feels shocked by every brush against Dejun. The final straw is when he reaches over and touches him.

“Goodnight,” he says quietly as he caresses his ankle again. Mark thinks that if he could go down on one knee right now, he would, like putty in Dejun’s soft hands. 

“Night,” Mark lets out. 

He hears rustling as his friend rolls over onto his back and makes himself comfortable. He trains his eyes on the ceiling, trying to connect the popcorn dots. His mind is racing and clouded all at once and it’s all because of the boy lying next to him. In the quiet dark of the night, he lets himself wonder if Dejun is feeling the same way. As he listens to his shallow breathing, he knows Dejun is still awake. He thinks he feels the same. He hopes. 

It ends with blank stares at the ceiling and deep, deep inside him; hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/realitysuh)


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